


Narcissus

by 1_Lucy_1



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crime Scenes, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-08 02:57:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1_Lucy_1/pseuds/1_Lucy_1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's bored, John is away on his honeymoon and Lestrade brings him a case which not only gets him out, but also makes him a new friend. Sorry, I am really terrible at summaries. I may or may not carry this on depending on whether people like it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Narcissus

Baker Street seemed empty without John. Okay, he'd only gone on his honeymoon and he'd be back in two weeks, but as Sherlock looked at the empty armchair in front of him, he felt at a loss.

Nevertheless, the clients kept coming and he was eager to find more and more cases with which to occupy his time. However none struck him so much as the case that Inspector Lestrade brought to 221B.

Sherlock lay on the sofa when the inspector arrived, hands steepled under his chin.  
"We need your help" Lestrade looked more than usually defeated as he stood in the doorway.

"Another 'unsolvable' case, Inspector?" Sherlock sighed, standing. He threw his hands up in the air, "Well, I suppose I can spare an hour or two" he said, in his same over-confident manner.

"I think this one might take you a little bit longer than usual"

"You thinking? It must be a difficult one"

Lestrade had no chance to reply, as Sherlock had already walked out, scarf on and coat in hand. Instead he just sighed, "Give me strength" and followed the detective out.

They pulled up outside a seemingly abandoned country house and Lestrade, with Sherlock in toe, ducked under the crime scene tape and made his way inside. There were officers everywhere as well as forensics. Sherlock felt their gazes fall on him as he walked through the house.

"Just up here," Lestrade said to him as they walked up a small staircase.

The inspector pushed open a small wooden door at the top of the stairs and led Sherlock inside. Cameras flashed as forensics took photos of the lifeless form in the middle of the floor. A pocket knife was closed in the victim's right hand.

"She was found by a neighbour earlier this morning. This was next to her," Lestrade handed him a folded piece of paper, "A note." He said by way of an explanation.

"You called me down here to look at a suicide? Honestly Lestrade, I would think even you could've worked this one out." Sherlock rolled his eyes and went to leave.

"It wasn't a suicide" came a voice from behind him.

He turned and found that the voice had come from a young woman whom he'd never seen before. "The victim has been stabbed. In her hand is a knife and next to her was a note. Precisely how is this not a suicide?"

"She was left-handed. Had she stabbed herself, she would have done so with her left hand and the wound would be at a different angle."

Sherlock looked closer at the victim. He saw it now, there was a callous on her left index finger, most likely from where she rested her pen when she wrote. And the way her right hand fell around the knife meant that she couldn't possibly have been holding it when she died and she definitely couldn't have stabbed herself with it. How did he not see that?

"Aren't you meant to be Sherlock Holmes?" the woman looked at him, a small smile playing on her lips.

"The question we want answering, Holmes, is who did kill her?" Lestrade stepped in.

Sherlock crouched next to the body and pulled out his small magnifying glass and within seconds had all he needed to know.  
"Young woman, can't be more than 30, her clothing is new, suggesting that she was invited here by someone - someone important - she bought the clothes to impress. No luggage, no car, meaning that whoever killed her took those with them when they left. But why here? Why this place?"

"Out of the way?" Lestrade offered, still processing all the information he had just received.

"Possibly, but why this room in particular? The house is large, you have to go up several flights of stairs to get here. Why not kill her downstairs?"

A silence fell over the room as Sherlock stopped to think. "Out" he said suddenly, and there was a pause as everyone exchange a look before they moved to leave. "Not you," he pointed to the young woman who had spoken to him earlier, "you stay. Name?"

"Charlie Thorpe" she sounded hesitant as brow furrowed, trying to work out why she was still here.

"Well, Miss Thorpe, why this room?"

"I-I suppose it's less likely that someone would find her up here"

Sherlock looked at her. She seemed more anxious now that they were alone. "Hmm. But the question we have to ask is, if she was killed here, where is the blood?"

Charlie looked at the body, it was the first time she'd noticed that the body had no blood around it, a wound like that would've bled a fair bit. "So she wasn't killed here?"

Sherlock shook his head, "And my guess is that the evidence is in the one thing that isn't here"

Suddenly Charlie realised what he meant "The car." Sherlock gave a small nod before turning and walking out.

"Come along Miss Thorpe" he shouted from the corridor.

Slowly, she walked out of the room, following him. Lestrade gave her a questioning look to which she replied with small shrug, unsure if what to say. The three of them got into Lestrade's car and drove away.

When they pulled up at Baker Street, Sherlock leaned forward to the inspector "I'm taking Miss Thorpe with me" he said, without even glancing at her, before getting out of the car and going inside.

Charlie sat there in stunned silence. "You should probably go y'know." Lestrade spoke wearily, "He'll only come back."

 _Why her?_  Why did Sherlock Holmes want  _her_  with him?

By the time Charlie got upstairs, Sherlock had already collected together all the things he knew about the murder in a cluttered web on the wall.

"We need to find out who the woman was, the name of the man who she was dating-"

"How do you know she was dating someone?"

"Her clothes. Buying new clothes to impress someone, most likely a man. The dress she was wearing came to her mid-thigh and neckline was cut low, suggesting she had romantic intentions. The clothes were expensive, not what she's used to, based on the condition of her skin she usually wears more durable fabrics, suggesting perhaps the man she meeting has a higher income than herself and he enjoys the finer things." He spoke quickly, without looking at Charlie as she tried to process all the information.

"So, first we find out what she did? Her job, I mean."

Sherlock thought back to the body, looking over all the details, trying to see something that could show her job. "Oh!"  
Charlie jumped a little at his admission, clearly he was declaring having found something.

"What?"

"A nurse, she's a nurse." Sherlock looked at her and was met with an expectant gaze. "The shoes she wore, high heels, they were giving her blisters - they were the right size, so clearly not something she usually wears."

"So what? A lot of women don't really wear heels"

"She also had dry skin on her hands - nurses are required to use sanitiser to clean their hands, the alcohol in which dries the skin and leaves the faint smell of ethanol"

"She could have been a clean freak"

"Possibly, but given the slight puffiness under her eyes and the dark shadows, suggesting lack of a regular sleep pattern - it is more likely to assume that her job has irregular shifts."

Charlie moved further into the room, "So now we just find out which hospital she works at"

"Barts."

Charlie started to ask how he knew, but given his reputation, she just went with it. Besides, he was already making his way downstairs.

It was nice to have someone to work with - he would've preferred John, but Charlie seemed to be doing quite well.

It was in the cab on the way to that hospital that Sherlock took a proper look at her. She was new to the force. He observed the silent way in which she tapped her fingers against her knee, clearly a side effect from the large amounts of caffeine that she had been drinking lately, trying to adjust to the odd hours she found herself working. He wondered how much she actually slept, given the dark circles under her eyes that she had desperately tried to conceal with make-up and the fact she made extra effort to blink more, as if to stop herself from succumbing to sleep.

The fact she didn't feel the need to make idle chitchat was a comfort to Sherlock, he hated when people thought that they ought to 'get to know him'. He knew pretty much everything he needed to about a person within seconds of meeting them, why on earth would he want to listen to the horribly dramatised version of their life before they then pushed him to give information about his own?

No, Sherlock Holmes was well acquainted with silences and he was glad when meeting people who shared that.

The cab pulled up beside the hospital and they both stepped out into the cool London evening. Inside was fairly quiet and they easily found someone to talk to. The woman, in her late 40s, was a smoker (he noticed the faded yellow on her fingertips and a glimpse of a nicotine patch, not to mention the tense no-nonsense look she gave them which only comes from being starved of a vice) and she was plainly the matron of this particular ward.

"Good evening, Miss..." He paused, waiting for her to fill the gap. She didn't. "Miss." He relented. "Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, this is Inspector Charlie Thorpe. We were wondering whether you have had anyone not turn up for their shift, left no word - almost like they've just disappeared?"

Her stern look wavered for a moment while she considered Sherlock's question. "Gwen. Gwen Scrivens. She took the weekend off, going away with her fella. She was meant to be in yesterday for a night shift, never came in. Didn't even phone."

Sherlock nodded and gave her a detailed description of the victim just to be sure, "Sounds like Gwen. Why? What's happened to her?"

"I'm afraid she was murdered" Charlie jumped in, not keen to let Sherlock break the news, she'd heard how indelicate he could be. "We're trying to work out exactly what happened to her. Did she, by any chance, tell you anything about the man she was dating?"

"Well, I remember her saying he was big in banking, y'know the type - flash. Though I'm not entirely sure you could call it 'dating', dear, more like a dinner every now and then, only after one thing probably."

"Thank you," Sherlock spoke quickly, walking out.

"You've been very helpful," Charlie felt the need to reassure the woman before she then chased after Sherlock.

"Call Lestrade, tell him we've found out who she was, get him to find anything he can about her then meet me back at Baker Street."  
Before Charlie could answer, he got in a cab and left.

"Victim's a Gwen Scrivens, 30, she was a nurse at Barts. We need anything you can find out about her and the man she was dating, apparently he's big in banking"

"'We' is it? You Holmes' new Watson, eh Charlie?" She could practically hear his smug smile at the other end.

"Just find the information, Lestrade" she sighed, hanging up.

"Well?" Charlie was barely through the door before the inquisition started. "What do we know?"

"Lestrade found her address, got her phone records and emails. Nothing as yet on the boyfriend"

"Come on then, let's go" Sherlock made a move to leave, clearly wanting to inspect Gwen's home, however his time Charlie managed to grasp his arm before he made it out the door.

"Sherlock, it is eleven 'o'clock at night. There's no way we're getting in her flat tonight. It'll still be there tomorrow, trust me." He could tell from the look she gave him that this was not up for discussion.

"Fine." Sherlock spoke in a cool tone, as Charlie released his arm and he walked back into the lounge, "You look at the emails, I'll look at her phone records. Try and find a pattern, anything."

Charlie handed him the phone records as he sat down at the table, then sat herself on the sofa, armed with the emails in one hand and a highlighter in the other.

By the time the first of the morning light started to filter through the curtains, Sherlock had found a pattern in Gwen's phone records. There were two phone numbers that appeared repeatedly, always one then the other, frequently over the past three months. He lifted his head, opening his mouth to tell Charlie, but as he looked over to the sofa he saw that she was asleep, head resting on her hand and the emails sat in her lap.

Charlie woke suddenly, momentarily disorientated by her surroundings. She then mentally scolded herself, noticing the emails and realising that she must have fallen asleep halfway through. Blinking a little as her eyes adjusted to the daylight, she saw that Sherlock was sat in his armchair, staring dead ahead, his hands steepled in front of his face.

"Good, you're awake." He spoke without turning, "Mrs Hudson said it would be 'rude' to wake you any earlier, though quite frankly I think it was rude of you to fall asleep during a case."

"I just woke up, can you not."

"Can I not, what?"

"Be all Sherlock"

At this, he turned. "But I am Sherlock, so therefore I can only be Sherlock."

"Well, can you be a little less Sherlock. Just for a bit."

He still looked confused, but instead of questioning further, he just gestured toward the mug of tea on the table, "Drink up, we've got a case to solve."

They arrived at Gwen's house and Sherlock went to look around, not before telling Charlie to stay outside and look at the emails. Nothing particularly strange, mostly spam, the odd cat-themed chain mail...but then something else caught her eye. In amongst the spam, received four days earlier, was a message from 'M Holmes', the subject simply 'NARCISSUS'

Just as Charlie turned to go and find Sherlock, he stormed out of the flat, seeming tense, pacing. "Nothing new there, nothing helpful, but there has to be-"

"Sherlock?"

"There has to be something, a note somewhere, a photograph, something that could help"

"Sherlock?" She said again, louder this time.

"What?!" He snapped, stopping in his tracks.

"Look at this email"

Charlie handed him the page where Mycroft's email was highlighted. She watched as Sherlock read the email over and over, trying to decipher it's message. Eventually he handed back the page, "I think we ought to pay my brother a visit"

Mycroft's office was a grand, intimidating room, but the furniture itself was minimal. In some way Charlie found that more intimidating. She and Sherlock sat in the two chairs that faced the large wooden desk. After a moment they were joined by the elder Holmes, who took his place opposite them.

"You've changed your Watson, I see" he gestured at Charlie, "You do realise that she's a woman?"

"I'm surprised you know what one looks like"

"You two do realise that I can hear you, right?"

"What do you know about Gwen Scrivens?" Sherlock interjected, ignoring Charlie. He smirked as he saw a crack appear in Mycroft's façade. "Or, perhaps, 'Narcissus'? Does that mean anything to you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about" came the perfectly rehearsed reply.

Sherlock held out a hand to Charlie, who gave him the page with Mycroft's email on, which he proceeded to show his brother.

Mycroft sighed, rolling his eyes, "That bloody woman, I told her to always delete my messages."

"So, you were the man she was dating?" Charlie looked at him with disbelief.

"No, she worked for me."

"She was a nurse"

"Yes. But she also worked for me, you see I can be very persuasive." Mycroft's smile was sickly sweet.

"Who was he?" Sherlock wanted answers.

"He was - and still is - a threat to British intelligence. Selling secrets to our opposition and masquerading them as bank deals."

"You needed her to get close to him, close enough that you'd be able to swoop in, all guns blazing and shut him down."

"I simply put her in the right place at the right time, she did the rest herself. He came back for more and every time he called her -"

"She called you. That explains the pattern."

"What pattern?" Charlie asked, interrupting the deductions.

"The pattern in her phone records. I would've told you, but you were asleep."

"Let's not go there again"

"Why? Because I might get too 'Sherlock' - whatever that means" he pulled a face like it was the most offensive thing he'd ever heard.

"I wish I hadn't asked."

"Look at you two quarrelling. It's almost like watching you and Mr Watson, brother."

"Can we just carry on trying to solve the murder?"

Both Holmes' turned their attention away from Charlie and back to the task at hand, "Anyway," Mycroft started, "Miss Scrivens had finally managed to convince him to take her on a weekend away, to a house in the country-"

"Far enough removed from the city that you could assure his position without worry of him getting away."

"Well, that was the plan." Mycroft looked stern, almost like a child who just lost a game "Miss Scrivens was meant to alert me when they arrived at the house, but I never received a message. Next thing I hear she's been murdered." He sighed as if this was not someone's life but merely a small hiccup in his plan.

"Do you know where your man is?"

"Yes. But he's wary now."

"Do you think he killed her?" Charlie looked at Sherlock, then to Mycroft and back again.

"Obviously." Mycroft's tone was equivalent to if he had patted Charlie on her head.

"Her mobile wasn't anywhere when she was found, possible that he saw your email, questioned her about it, lashed out and killed her. Then, he panicked, taking her to the upmost part of the house - less chance of discovery - then drove away taking her luggage and the evidence with him." Sherlock deduced, fitting evidence together like pieces of an elaborate jigsaw.

"He still needs to be stopped Sherlock."

"But now he's suspicious because once again your government planning has gone completely awry"

"So, what do we do?" Charlie interjected, before the hair-pulling could start.

"There's only one thing we can do, Miss Thorpe" Charlie looked at Sherlock expectantly. "Set a trap of our own."

Two sets of Holmes eyes fell on Charlie, her eyes widening when she realised what this trap was going to involve.

The heels were high.  _Too high_. Charlie didn't really wear heels much, wasn't much call for it and when wearing them she fell rather more than she would like. But this bar was no place for flats, not for what she needed to do.

Sat on one of the high seats was the man Mycroft had shown her earlier in the day, tall, thinning hair, sharp suit - you could tell he was a banker from fifty paces. Now, all she had to do was walk over slowly and sit down next to him. The only problem with doing this was the heels, she only had one pair and she hadn't had much walking practice and because of this, when she started to walk towards him she only got about four steps in before before falling on the floor.  _Great_ , she thought,  _I've blown it._

However this seemed to have worked even better, as she was helped up by the one man she had been sent here to get. "Up you get," he said as he pulled her to (slightly unsteady) feet, "bit too much to drink?"

"Not really used to the heels," Charlie replied as he sat her on the seat next to him.

"Well, they look lovely all the same," he flashed her a smile before extending a hand "Edison. Edison Martel."

This confirmed that he was exactly who she thought, "Charlie Thorpe" she smile back at him, taking the proffered hand.

Edison took her hand to his lips and Charlie had to hide her grimace, "Lovely to meet you Charlie" he smiled again, but his smile served to make her feel more uncomfortable.

She tried to remember the instructions Sherlock had given her - iseduce him and then get him to Baker Street any way you can/i - for someone who usually got so tied up in details, he gave her surprisingly little to go on. All she could hope was that he had come up with something for after that.  
So, she proceeded to drink with him until he was...merry. At which point she decided to haul him up by his arm, "Let's go."

"Where?" He slurred the word a little.

"My place" she gave him a little wink and made a mental note to kill Sherlock for making her do this as she pulled him in the direction of the nearest cab.

"Where to, love?"

"221B Baker Street"

Stepping out of the cab in front of the large black door, Charlie felt like she had accomplished something. Although she wished that it hadn't had to involve being groped in the back of a taxi by a drunken, sleazy, probable murderer. On second thoughts the feeling of accomplishment was probably more relief that it was finally coming to an end.  
She managed to get him upstairs into the lounge before things went wrong. Edison grabbed her arm in a tight grip and pulled her close to him, "Are you working for him?" He breathed, the smell of liquor choking Charlie. "I know this place, I've seen it on the news and in the papers - this is Holmes' place"

"I'm sorry?" She feigned innocence.

"You will be," he threw her against the table, hands at her throat, holding her down. "I will not bow to Mycroft Holmes." He pressed a little harder on her neck.

All Charlie could manage as his grip tightened was, "Please."

"It's a shame really, you're much prettier than the other one, but I can't just let you go back to him." Charlie opened her mouth in an attempt to say something else, "I know you're working for Holmes so don't even bother!"

Suddenly she felt Edison's hands leave her throat and saw as he clutched his head where there was now a large cut. Behind him Charlie recognised the mop of black curls that stood in the doorway. In his hand Sherlock held the remains of what was a lamp before it was used to dent the banker.

"She does work for  **a**  Holmes, but please don't compare me to my brother. He never would've done that." Sherlock then delivered another swift blow to Edison's head, knocking him unconscious.

Charlie finally felt that she could move again, getting to her feet to find that she was steadied by Sherlock's hands on her shoulders "Let me look at your neck."  
She tilted her head back, an ache already present in her neck. Slowly, Sherlock moved his hand from her shoulders to her neck, carefully inspecting the damage. "They'll be some minor bruising, no real damage." He looked at her, eyes serious "Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Like you said, no real damage."

"That wasn't what I asked."

"I know, but I'm fine."

"Mrs Hudson!" He called down the stairs.

"What is it, Sherlock?" She rushed upstairs as if she had been poised for his call. Taking one look at the scene before her, Mrs Hudson let out a gasp, hands flying to her mouth. "What have you been up to now?"

"Do shut up Mrs Hudson. Please take Miss Thorpe downstairs, make her some tea or whatever it is you do, I have some business with Mr Martel and my brother."

"Right. Come along dear." She waved a hand towards Charlie and started to make her way back down the stairs.

Charlie walked over to the door but before she left she turned back to Sherlock, "Thank you. Oh, and Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"I'm working with you, not for you" she gave a little smilie before leaving.

It was an hour before Charlie saw the flashing blue and red of police cars outside. Evidently, Sherlock and Mycroft had 'encouraged' a confession from Edison, as currently he was being dragged into a car by two officers. Mycroft watched Edison being driven away before following in his own car, a smug satisfied smile on his face - he finally had his man.  
Once she was sure that everyone had left, Charlie thanked Mrs Hudson for the tea and went back upstairs, where she found Sherlock sat in his armchair. "I'm sorry" he said, without looking at her.

This caught Charlie off guard, maybe he thinks I'm someone else, she thought. But this was Sherlock Holmes -  _he knew_. "What for?"

"I should've stopped him sooner."

"Yeah, probably."

"I just-"

"Stop. There's no point, what happened, happened. It's over now."

Sherlock turned to face her, "Not quite. First Lestrade needs to find Gwen's car, if that's where he killed her, we need the evidence. And then he's Mycroft's problem."

"So, am I actually allowed to go home and sleep?"

"You can't go home, if Lestrade finds anything we need to be able to leave as soon as possible." He saw her sigh. She did look tired. "But seeing as you can't leave, you can sleep in John's old room. I don't suppose he'll be needing it now."

Her face brightened a little, "Thank you" she smiled, "Night, Sherlock."

"Goodnight."

Charlie woke early, roused by someone gently shaking her. She turned over to find Sherlock stood next to the bed. "Get up, Lestrade's found the car."

"Right," Charlie yawned, "I'll be ready in a minute."

By the time she got downstairs Sherlock was all ready to go, trademark coat and scarf on, pacing the floor like an agitated puppy waiting for a walk.

When he saw Charlie, something caught his eye. He stopped pacing, coming closer to her, taking the scarf from around his neck. He placed it in her hand, "I think you may be in more need of this today" he said, voice low.

She suddenly realised that he was talking about the bruises on her neck. She caught sight of her reflection as they made their way downstairs. The finger marks were small, but deep purple, so she did what Sherlock had advised, putting the blue scarf around her neck to conceal them.

They met Lestrade in good time, it turned out that in his panic, Edison Martel had driven the car to the very top of a multi-storey car park and just left it there. The interior was complete with blood stains on the passenger side, as well as a bloodied suit which they could only assume was what Edison had changed out of after having left Gwen's body in the house.

"So you were right it seems" Lestrade said, turning to them.

"I'm always right and yet people all seem surprised."

"And so very modest with it" Charlie's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Why should I have need to be modest? You all know it's true."

"That doesn't mean you have to say it"

"Swapping wardrobes, are we?" Lestrade changed the subject, smirking at Charlie as he pointed to the scarf around her neck.

"Necessity," said Sherlock, barely paying attention as he looked at the scene, "to hide the bruises on her neck" he added, as if it was a completely normal occurrence.

Lestrade's smirk disappeared and was replaced by a mix of anger, concern and a small amount of disbelief, "Wh-for Christ's sake Holmes, she's only been with you two days! What did you do?!"

"Stopped her from being strangled to death" Sherlock never moved his eyes from the scene.

Mouth slightly agape, Lestrade turned to Charlie who shrugged her shoulders giving him a look that said 'don't ask'.

"She made quite a good John"

"Oh! Well that's alright then!" Lestrade didn't do very well in trying to hide his frustration.

"In fact," Sherlock turned to Charlie, "perhaps you could work with me every now and then. Y'know, when John's busy doing 'family things'" he wiggled his fingers in the air as he said the last part, as though it was something John had made up.

Charlie looked at Lestrade, unsure of how to answer and somehow thinking he'd help her make a decision.

"If you want to work with him, you're more than welcome, just don't say I didn't warn you" the inspector was midway through lighting a cigarette.

She turned back to Sherlock, "Okay. Yes, I'd be delighted to" she said, her face breaking into a little grin.

"And, I suppose you can have John's room at Baker Street on a more permanent basis" Sherlock said as they walked away from the car.

"Do you think I should get a coat?" Charlie turned to him with a questioning look.

"What?"

"Well, you and John you've got these coats - detective coats. Maybe I should get a coat" the way she kept emphasising the word 'coat' made Sherlock laugh.

"Do be quiet, Thorpe. Or I'll have to be rid of you before we've even really started"

"Are you always like this? Because I'm starting to think John got married just to get away from you" she said, deadpan. "I'm beginning to contemplate it myself."  
They walked away together, giggling like a couple of school kids.


End file.
